


The Morning After

by Isis



Series: Oral Sex [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hangover, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-02
Updated: 2003-05-02
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape and Black wake up with hangovers and go to bed with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> [illustration by Tripper](http://hieroglyfics.net/hp/art/tripper-tma.jpg) (very not-worksafe)

"Snape. Get up."

Severus Snape groaned. There were approximately two hundred miniature goblins  
hammering in his head, somebody had stuffed a dirty sock in his mouth, and he  
wasn't sure he wasn't going to throw up. Worst of all, he had just heard Sirius  
Black's voice, at far too great a volume, directly in his ear.

What the hell had happened? He vaguely remembered a party. Potter's wedding,  
that was it. And firewhiskey. Far too much firewhiskey. And Sirius Black. He  
tried to recall exactly what he and Black had been doing, which set off a fresh  
round of the goblin-hammering. Had they been … kissing? Dear God. No, that part  
must have been a dream. And therefore Black's voice in his ear was a dream, and  
therefore he could ignore it. He settled his head firmly into his pillow.

Which moved under him, and said, once again, "Get up."

He cracked a crusty eye. Dear God, he thought again, and sat up abruptly, wincing as he banged his head on what turned out to be the underside of a table. "Black. What is going on?"

"You don't need to shout," said Black. He sat up, cracking his head against the table as well, and let out a surprised yelp of pain. "I think we're getting too old for this." He extracted himself from under the table and slowly made it to his feet, then reached out a hand to the other man.

"Speak for yourself," said Snape stiffly, deliberately ignoring Black's hand and pulling himself upright. His knees creaked audibly, and Black grinned. 

"Not bad for an old man."

"Fuck you."

"Don't remind me," groaned Black, pressing his fingers to his temples.

Right. Snape looked around; the Three Broomsticks was empty and the fire was guttering to coals. A bit of moonlight came through the window, and he judged it must be well past midnight. He sighed, thinking of the long walk back to Hogwarts. "I wonder if Rosmerta's still about."

"Probably asleep in her bed, like all good citizens." Black looked at him with a half-smile. "I'll share, if you like."

"Pardon?"

He shrugged. "I've got a room. Figured I was going to get pissed, so. You're welcome to join me." Snape looked at him sharply, and he rolled his eyes. "To sleep, Snape. I'm in no shape to be doing much else, and I doubt you are either."

"Well. In that case, I will accept," said Snape, and followed him upstairs. It was a small room. With a small bed, he noted uneasily. He was not accustomed to sharing either room or bed.

"If you snore, I'll hex you," he muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off his boots. When they were neatly set at the side of the bed, he pulled back the covers.

"That's it?"

"What?"

"Christ, Snape, I'm not going to sully your precious virtue. Sleeping in those fancy robes isn't going to be comfortable."

He eyed the other man, who had stripped to what Snape thought were rather vulgar red boxer shorts. "I am perfectly all right," he said, in as frosty a tone as he could manage. Still, he took off the over-robe, trying to ignore Black's gaze. Underneath, he wore soft black trousers, and a black tunic; after a moment's thought he unbuttoned the top two buttons at his neck.

"Nice."

"If you've quite finished ogling me?"

Black spread his hands and smiled, and Snape got into the narrow bed, arranging himself carefully so as to stay on what he'd chosen as his half. After a moment, Black slid into the bed as well and placed his still-illuminated wand on the nightstand.

"Still need a night-light, Black?"

"Just waiting for my goodnight kiss."

"For Merlin's sake." Snape turned onto his other side, intending to cast Nox himself, and saw Black smirking at him.

"You never do take that broomstick out of your arse, do you, Snape. What does it take to get you to relax?"

"Firewhiskey, apparently."

"Well. We should get pissed together more often."

"Heaven forfend."

Black smiled and leaned forward, just enough to brush his lips against Snape's; before Snape could even register what had happened he had already settled his head back against the pillow and extinguished the light at his wand. "Good night, then."

He thought he'd be unable to sleep, pressed up against the body of a man who until the night before had been one of his greatest enemies, but within minutes he was snoring.

* * *

Snape woke to the simultaneous and contradictory proddings of a full bladder  
and a dry throat. The first grey light of dawn was beginning to touch the room,  
which meant he'd have a hard time falling asleep again; he preferred the  
complete darkness of the dungeons. Carefully he extricated himself from the  
bedclothes and went to the toilet, then summoned a glass of water.

"I'll have some of that too, if I may."

He almost choked. "Black. I apologize for waking you."

"You didn't. It's the alcohol's fault, not yours."

"Ah," said Snape, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed the glass to Black, who drunk deeply. "I suppose I can use that excuse for…what happened."

"What happened?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Last night. At the wedding."

Black snorted. "Nothing happened last night at the wedding. Other than you and  
I burying the hatchet, finishing the bottle, and snogging under the table."

"Precisely."

"Give it up, Snape. Nothing you have to apologize for. And it certainly didn't seem to me as though you didn't enjoy it."

Had he enjoyed it? He supposed he had; it had been far too long since he'd had physical contact with anybody at all. The fact that it was Black had seemed immaterial at the time. Although he certainly wouldn't have gotten within two meters of the man, had he been sober.

But Black was right. They had indeed buried the hatchet quite firmly in the bottle of firewhiskey, and it was hard to muster up much disgust, or even distaste. Their rivalry and hatred seemed childish and far away. Only a faint resentment still lingered around the edges. And he had to admit the man was…not unattractive.

"Did you?" he asked, suddenly. 

Black smiled, white teeth glinting in the near-darkness. "I don't remember. Let's try again and see." He put the glass on the nightstand and slipped an arm around Snape's waist, pulling him back onto the bed and against his body. 

"That's not what…oh. Oh," he said, again, and then he couldn't say much of anything at all, because Black's mouth was on his, warm and insistent. It felt better than it had a right to, being kissed by Sirius Black. The way Black's tongue delicately swirled across his teeth, the way he pulled away just a fraction to nuzzle at the edges of his lips before returning to his mouth, the way those hands caressed his hip and the back of his neck. He had put it down to the whiskey, last night, but with his brain no longer fogged by the drink he could appreciate it all the more.

And it was not, he noted with some embarrassment, a purely aesthetic, mental appreciation. His thin under-trousers did not hide his reaction, and Black, practically naked and pressed up against him was certain to have…noticed. He pulled away, a bit regretfully. And not altogether successfully, as Black's hand was still at his hip.

"Yes," said Black, considering. "I believe I must have enjoyed it."

The scandalously red boxer shorts, vivid even in the weak early-morning light, gave ample evidence of that, noted Snape. "And you told me you had no designs on my virtue."

"I lied."

The corner of Snape's mouth quirked. "I am astonished, Black. You must be quite desperate for -- enjoyment."

"You could say that. Azkaban deprived me of all I had." His hand moved in lazy circles against Snape's thigh. "I'm making up for lost time."

"Stooping to Death Eaters."

"Former Death Eaters, Snape. And don't forget I've been tarred with a similar brush."

"Yes." He was silent for a moment. "I believed it, you know. I had already -- defected. I did not find it surprising that you turned traitor."

Black shrugged. "All my friends believed it."

"I have never been one of your friends, Black."

"Thank God for small favors," he said, and pulled Snape in for another kiss. This time Snape matched the movements of the other man's tongue with his own, exploring the warm mouth that opened so invitingly. His hands seemed to move of their own accord to Black's naked chest, twining in the coarse mat of hair, and Black's groan at his touch sent a shiver down his spine all the way to his cock. Blacks' mouth moved to his neck, nipping at the sensitive place just below his jawbone, then to his ear. "As usual," Black murmured, "you are wearing entirely too many clothes."

It did seem a trifle warmer than it had been. "I suppose I can do something about that," Snape said, as he began unfastening the buttons of his tunic. But before he was halfway finished, Black reached over, pulling it completely off despite his protests.

"There. Much better." Black looked him up and down with an unmistakable leer. 

He crossed his arms defensively. "If you've ripped my tunic, I will take it out of your hide. I'll have you know that was a gift from my favorite aunt." 

"She has impeccable taste," Black murmured, gently taking Snape's hands in his and moving them to his own hips, then bending to trail his lips across Snape's naked chest. His tongue darted out to tease a nipple. "It looks so nice on the floor."

Snape moaned in answer. When, exactly, had his nipples become so sensitive? It was as though a cord connected them directly to his groin, and Black seemed determined to trace that cord with lips and tongue. Gripping the other man's hips tightly, he arched into the exploring mouth as teeth grazed his skin. "Why," he gasped, "are you -- so determined -- to seduce me?"

"Because you're just screaming to be seduced, Severus." Black's lips vibrated  
against his skin, setting off tiny earthquakes as he spoke. A tongue swirled  
around his navel and dipped briefly below his waistband. "Everybody sees you as  
the tight-arsed and buttoned-down professor. But get a little firewhiskey down  
you, and what do you know?" He slid his fingers under the waistband of the  
trousers and began working them past Snape's narrow hips. "Human, after all."

"Black -- Sirius -- you don't -- you can't --"

"Shush," said Black. Snape's hands slid up his back as he bent to nuzzle into  
the dark thatch of hair. "Deliciously human."

The sight of the other man's head moving at his groin was as arousing as the feel of him. This is Sirius Black, he thought, of all people, Sirius Black. Whose rough chin was blazing a path down his inner thigh for his hot tongue to follow, whose fingers were stroking and caressing his body, toying gently with his ball sac, sliding almost casually into the cleft of his arse. Whose mouth, sweet Merlin, was closing around his cock, and the sudden warm wetness wrenched a cry from his own mouth.

"Like that, do you?" murmured Black, and he felt it as much as heard it, a slow pulse thrumming against, oh, against his cock, and there was a wet finger probing at him, and oh god it was sliding inside him and there was a sudden jolt of electricity right _there_ and he cried out again, wordlessly, desperately.

"Oh god -- what was -- oh fuck, do that again," he managed, when his heartrate had slowed enough for speech.

"Welcome to your prostate, Professor," he felt Black say, and he wanted to say, "Yes, yes, now get on with it, put your mouth back where it belongs," but before he could so much as shape the first syllable with his lips, that mouth was sucking at him again, the tongue swirling down the shaft to the base of his cock, as Black's mouth took him all the way in, and then that finger slid precisely at that astonishingly electric angle again, and he arched and bucked and came hard into Sirius Black's amazing mouth.

The world seemed to rock around him, tilting like an out-of-control broomstick, and when he regained his wits he found himself cradled in Sirius's arms, and the man was positively grinning at him.

"Well. That was certainly an enthusiastic reaction."

"That was rather incredible," Snape said carefully, and then Black's mouth was on his and he was tasting his own seed, salty and bitter but not exactly unpleasant.

"Haven't lost my touch, then," said Black, stretching out like a cat. His erection rubbed against Snape's hips through the silky boxers he was still wearing, and the sensation seemed almost magnified, as though it were Snape's entire body being rubbed against, and not just a few square centimeters of skin.

"You seem quite skilled. In my admittedly limited experience."

"Limited?"

"Virtually nonexistent, actually." It was not something he had planned on admitting, but he was probably expected to reciprocate -- hell, he wanted to reciprocate, wanted to find out exactly what that felt like, what Sirius Black would feel like, taste like, in his mouth. Best not to raise any unrealistic expectations.

"So it's true. You are a monk."

"No. A Slytherin." Black looked at him as though he wasn't quite sure whether he was making a joke, and he sighed. "Think for a moment, Black. A House dedicated to the principle of pure blood and genetic heredity. Do you imagine that they would possibly look upon a predilection for one's own sex as anything other than heresy?"

"Ah. Heresy to have no heirs."

"Precisely."

"Yet another reason I'm thankful to have been a Gryffindor, then," Black said, pulling Snape against his chest again. "Go after what you want, and damn the authorities."

"So I've noticed."

"It's a wonder you ended up so well-adjusted."

Snape's eyes narrowed; then the corner of his mouth rose just a fraction, and he looked intently at the other man. "Fuck you." 

"No, my dear Slytherin. Fuck you. And high time, I'd say." He bent his mouth to  
Snape's neck, just barely brushing the sensitive skin, and Snape arched to meet  
his lips. "Although … I don't suppose that you, with all your potions, have any  
sort of proper lubrication with you?"

Snape moaned at the thought. Sirius Black wanted to…to fuck him. To slide that erection, which he could feel pushing against his leg, all the way inside him. Inside his arse, like he'd slid that finger, that amazingly talented finger, and if a mere slender finger could make him feel like he was on fire, just imagine what his cock could do. It was thick, he could feel that through the fabric of Black's boxers, and it would press into him just so, and he would be nearly split open but it would feel so good, he knew it, and he moaned again and pressed himself more tightly against that chest, those hips, that cock.

"Is that a yes, or a no?" breathed a husky voice in his ear. 

"Immaterial," gasped Snape. "I want … it." He couldn't quite bring himself to say, I want you. Not to Sirius Black. And what did he want, anyway? Was it just the promise of sex, held out before him like a prize, or was it the man himself? That damnably confident, infuriating, exasperating man.

"Well, in that case," Black said, nuzzling his neck, "I'll have to content myself with our hands."

The prize was slipping out of his grasp, and he reached for it desperately. "You will do no such thing."

"Don't be an idiot, Snape. Your first time ought to be pleasurable." He nibbled at the sensitive spot between jaw and ear. "After all, I have a vested interest."

Damnably confident, infuriating, exasperating, and entirely too much in control, decided Snape. He slithered down Black's chest and tugged at the red boxer shorts, and as soon as he had uncovered the erection that had been taunting him through the cloth, he took it in his mouth. Take that, Black.

"Sweet Christ, your mouth feels so good on me," came the groan, and he would have smiled had his lips not been busy sucking and tasting and feeling the shape of Sirius Black's cock. In his mouth, it was in his mouth, and he could smell the musk rising from his skin, taste the salt, almost hear the blood pulsing through his veins. He was starting to get hard again, just thinking about it, just feeling it.

He slipped his hands under Black's thighs, under his arse, gently caressing in  
counterpoint to the movements of his mouth, and was rewarded with another moan.  
Casually, he moved a hand to his lips and wet a finger, slid it behind the  
heavy balls, up and in.

"Oh yes, in me, just like that," moaned Black. He was rocking back and forth, just little thrusts of his hips, pushing his cock further into Snape's mouth and Snape's finger further into his arse. "Another finger -- please -- more," he panted, and Snape complied, feeling Black's body give way to his invasion, feeling the warmth, the motion against his fingers. "A little deeper -- oh yes, fuck, right there, don't stop --"

It was almost unbearably erotic. Black, writhing and babbling obscenities, sweating and moaning and it was all because of what he was doing to him with his mouth and hands. He felt incredibly powerful, the source of all these reactions, and oh, sweet Merlin, it was making him hard as a rock again. 

He flicked his eyes up and was transfixed by the sight. Black's head was thrown back and his eyes were clenched shut, almost as if he were in pain. But the stream of words coming from his lips said otherwise; it was all _don't stop_ and _fuck yes_ and _oh God Severus I'm coming I'm coming_ , and he was, in a flood that Snape tried to catch in his mouth. But Sirius was bucking under him too violently, and the bitter salt wetness caught him by surprise, and although some went down his throat the rest of it spurted across his face and his hands and his chest.

His face, and his hands, and his chest; would he have thought last night that he'd be greeting the day like this, covered in Sirius Black's come? He felt very slightly embarrassed, and proud, and, much to his surprise, tender. Sirius's hands unclenched from the sheets and lifted to twine themselves in his hair, and Sirius made a contented little noise and opened his eyes just a little, and all was right with the world.

"Mmm. That was nice."

"Yes." It came out as a sigh.

Sirius opened his eyes a bit more, then snickered. "Look at you. Good thing I made you take off those clothes first." He slid one cupped hand down through the wetness, down Snape's face and his chest, stopping as he caught sight of Snape's renewed erection. "Well."

"Yes."

"Can't send you back to Hogwarts like that," he said, pulling Snape close with the hand which still rested in his hair, sliding the other, slick with his own semen, across Snape's thick cock. Snape arched into the touch, the feeling of somebody else's hand, of Sirius Black's hand, he thought in wonderment. Then the hand was gone, leaving him growling with frustration as it moved back to his chest to collect more wetness and then, oh gods, Sirius spread himself open, fucked himself on his own fingers, and Snape hadn't thought it was possible to get any harder but the sight went straight to his groin.

He lifted his eyes to Sirius's face, which was an amazing sight in itself, flushed and slightly sheened with sweat. He did not realize he had been motionless, staring intently, until Sirius smirked at him.

"Is it an engraved invitation you're waiting for?"

"Oh, sweet Merlin," groaned Snape, and pushed himself between the other man's legs, burying himself balls-deep in one heart-stopping thrust. Tight and hot and sweet, and it was the last place he'd ever thought he'd find himself, and the only place he wanted to be. "So good."

"Mmm." Sirius rocked slowly under him, half-hard, a lazy smile on his face. A cat-that-got-the-cream smile. "I knew I'd find something worthwhile under all those layers of armor. A challenge I couldn't resist, you were."

Snape froze. "A challenge. I see, Black. Another notch on your broomstick."

Black rolled his eyes. "Christ, Snape, it's your broomstick being notched at the moment."

"Fuck you." He pushed away the leg wrapped around his waist, but before he could disentangle himself completely, Black had gripped his hips and pulled him in tightly.

"That's right, you utter git. Fuck me." When Snape didn't move, he sighed. "Listen to me, Snape. Yes, I sat at your table last night because you were a challenge. Sitting there like a vulture, glaring at everybody -- I wanted to find out who you were, under that scowl. And I found someone who was human, and who talked to me as though I were human, and not either a dangerous criminal or a pitiable victim."

Snape's expression changed not a whit. "Because you got me drunk."

"All right. So I got you drunk, and myself drunk as well. But we've been bloody well sober for the past hour, and you know what, Snape? Kissing you is better than being drunk. The moment I got lost in your mouth, all I could think about was getting closer to your skin." He started making small circles with his hands on Snape's hips, pulling him closer, rocking under him again. "Do you know how wonderful your cock tastes, how it feels in my mouth? Do you know how beautiful you are when you come? You throw your head back, and you make these incredible noises, and Christ, I thought I was going to explode right there, watching you."

He rocked a little faster, and the muscles of his arse clenched around Snape's cock, and Snape made a small and involuntary gasp at the motion. Almost against his will he responded, pushing hard into the sweet friction, his hands returning to Black's chest.

"And then," murmured Black, "you took me into your mouth, and I did explode. The best orgasm I've ever had in my life, and it was you who did it to me. " He took one of Snape's hands and placed it on his own renewed erection. "I want you to feel what just thinking about it does to me. I want you to pound me through the mattress, Snape. I want to see that look on your face again." He pressed their joined hands against the hard length of his cock, with a moan that sent shivers down Snape's spine.

Tentatively at first Snape thrust his hips forward, pushing against the bed and against Black's body which arched to meet him. "Fuck yes, do that again," he heard, and he did, again and again, into that astonishing heat, that friction that seemed almost too much to bear, and all the time Black was thrusting his own prick into his hand. The world seemed to contract around them, bit by bit; at first it consisted of nothing more than the small room, and then only the bed, and finally there was nothing, nothing in the entire universe other than their cocks, and his hand, and Sirius Black's amazing arse. Snape could see nothing but the flushed face before him, hear nothing other than the blood pulsing in his own veins and the words tumbling from Sirius's mouth. 

It was incredible. Incredible because wonderful, and incredible because difficult to believe, Sirius's face tensing, his mouth shaping the syllables of Severus's name as he climaxed, spattering their hands and chests; and the sight of it, the sound and feel of it, triggered his own orgasm, and he was pulsing into that sweet hole, whispering, as though trying out the sound of it, "Sirius, oh God, Sirius."

For long moments they lay wrapped around each other, tired and sated and streaked with sweat and semen, listening to the world slowly come alive around them. The sun was fully risen; the noise of clattering plates filtered up from the dining room of the Three Broomsticks.

"Severus."

"Sirius." He tasted the name in his mouth as though it were a new variety of liqueur.

"Don't move. I'm just going to clean us up." Sirius rolled away and came back with a cloth. The gentle movement of the damp flannel against his skin was like a benediction, and Snape nestled a little more firmly into the bed. After a time he felt Sirius slide back in next to him, molding himself to his contours, spoons in a drawer.

"How's the hangover?" came a voice in his ear.

"Hmm. I think I've found a replacement for Pepper-Up potion."

"Good thing. Because next Saturday it's your turn to buy the firewhiskey."

"Fuck you," he muttered, but there was no malice in it.

A low chuckle in his ear, and lips grazing his earlobe. "Fuck you, too." And despite the sun shining through the window, and the sounds of breakfast from the floor below, and the arms curving around him, he was asleep in moments.


End file.
